


A constant threat

by CaptKane



Series: Fox in sheep's clothing [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptKane/pseuds/CaptKane
Summary: A young fox moves away from his family to Zootopia amidst the "savage" scare.





	A constant threat

I growl annoyingly at no one, hesitating to get out of “bed”; I check my clock for the third time wishing that Monday would roll back to Sunday, but apparently wasting my life in bed isn’t going to be making me breakfast. 

After picking out my morning outfit, a brown woolen shirt and a basic pair of sweats, (I could really be a fashion Icon right?) I saunter out to the living room of my small apartment, avoiding my overflowing trash can, and the occasional wapper to something long-eaten. Before I get the chance to adjust to the sounds of the city or even my own footsteps, I hear chatter on the other side of my door in the hallway; it’s probably just my thoughtful neighbour across the way fighting to get his door open, again. 

He seems to lock himself out every other week; I offered to carry a spare key but he just returns with “Nah I’ll be alright, it won’t happen again.” I swear he only does it so he has a chance to annoy me.

I move across my living room past the old T.V I’ve been crowding around for entertainment, besides my computer. I’ve been using a single pillow for a couch ever since I moved in it. I’m not that big and burly as most preds are described as so hauling huge pieces of furniture up four flights of stairs isn’t much of an option for me.

And besides, it’s easier to cuddle a pillow over a couch when things get rough. 

Moving over to my counter I pull the used coffee grounds out of my coffee maker, replacing them for fresh, although not the best tasting, grounds. I check my fridge for a quick bite, but nothing even remotely edible, unless if you count a whole bottle of ketchup as a meal. Inspection the cupboards yielded the same results, nothing. I really need to get some self-control when it comes to shopping; I always get carried away and buy junk food. 

Scratching my head and looking at the scraps of food left over in my cupboard wasn’t going to work for me. I started planning the least annoying route to the store. 

I let out another groan and made my way across to my bathroom. I guess that means I’ll be wasting more money I don’t have eating out or walking all the way to the store for some food that’s going to last. 

Well, either way, I need to take a shower before I’m pulling my ass out into the public. It’s been like three days and I’m starting to hate the smell of myself a little more. 

I reach over to snap on the light and I’m blinded by a huge void of yellow; Yes, for some reason the designer wasn’t putting males into the equation when picking the colour pallet. After my pale eyes adjust from the shock of yellow, I turn the knob embossed with a capital “H” to my shower and watch as the grey-furred fox in the mirror is slowly replaced by the steam. 

Maybe it’s for the better. 

After a good fifteen minutes of peace, I step out of the warm shower into a cold mustard-coloured floor. While securing a towel around my waist, I place a generous amount of toothpaste on my brush, readying its bristles to assault my yellowed teeth. This is the part where I’d probably put some glasses or contacts in, if I could afford them that is. 

Swinging open the door to my bathroom, bracing for the initial shock of cold air to hit my still-damp fur. As I let the steam escape into my living room, it quickly gets replaced by a familiar scent, coffee. 

So, I guess a cup of coffee is going to have to hold me over until I can get some real food in me.  
Towel still in hand I walk over to the linoleum covered area of my living room denoted as a kitchen

I reach past all the trash on the counter and grab my favorite cup. Well, it’s like one of the only cups I own that isn’t made of red-plastic and wasn’t acquired from one of the many anxiety-ridden parties I've been dragged into. 

The coffee maker lets out a hiss as I place the half-full pot back under its spout. 

I open my mini fridge as I did only half an hour ago but this time I realize, I’m out of fucking milk. 

Now I let out an even louder growl and slam the fridge door shut. It must have been louder than my previous because the ever-present bantering outside my door only stopped moments after.

Shit, I was hoping to sneak out when he finally pestered the maintenance guy enough to unlock the door and scold him for being reckless. Guess I’ll be leaving sooner than I originally thought. Maybe it’s for the better. 

A generous pound on my door confirmed my assessment, he knew I was awake. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for our Lord,” I say stupidly without thinking. 

He goes along with anyway. “Well shit man, I’m the one who needs a miracle right now, and I don’t think Jesus was a locksmith.” 

“And you think I am?” I shoot, back feeling my voice crack from inactivity.

I could hear the smile on his face. “Well, when you hit puberty I’ll still be out here, waiting.” 

“A hello would be nice, or maybe a fucking please” I can feel my face get hot. And I don’t feel good yelling across my room.

He lets out a sharp whistle “Man, how rude is he right?”, “I guess all foxes are alike.” 

I know he just says shit like this to piss me off, but right now I don’t have the morale to tell him off, also I don’t feel like waking up any more neighbours right at the moment. 

I finally give him a long sigh and say “I’ll be out in a minute, I just need to get some clothes on first.” as I ready the outfit I picked out this morning. 

I had already dropped my towel for a more appropriate pair of boxers, but I wanted to give myself a bit of time before the circus started. 

I unlock the sliding-bolt lock to my door after the regular in-the-handle lock. It was installed by management before I moved into this place. Most likely because the one in the door handle is not too good at keeping people out. On the other hand, it’s not like someone can lock it while they’re out. Maybe that’s a good thing though, I wouldn't be able to unlock Hank’s door if the maintenance guy thought things through. 

Finally getting the willpower, I open my door to a muzzle of white fur belonging to an equally white wolf. His features are sharp; if he had any talent or more lessons on personal grooming he could probably be somebody, but he’d rather live in a dump and remain jobless.

He’s dressed in blue skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Well, it’s not real leather anyway but some sort of plastic vinyl leather stuff made to look and feel authentic. He doesn't ride a bike or anything so I guess that’s a plus. Maybe he’s a hipster or whatever they call themselves. 

He retracts from the door and with a mouth full of licorice mumbles “I guess objects in peep-holes are farther than they appear. Or maybe you’re too short” he says with a corny grin spreading across his face. 

I try to keep up a smile but it soon falls off. It’s hard to keep one going with award-winning jokes like that. Oh, and did I mention I’m starving. Funny thing is, I don’t really care about my size it makes it easier to avoid prying eyes, and for some, thievery.

“Hmm,” I say dismissively, making my way across the stained, patchy carpet to his door. It’s the type you’d see when in a classroom or government building, thin and not too comfortable. I personally prefer something with more trip protection. 

He’s standing next to someone I don’t recognize before. I could smell her before I opened the door but still feel like an idiot after my exchange. And now I’m picking his door like a fucking sleazebag. Great way to make a first impression right?

He’s studying every twist and turn of my claw, like I’m turning lead to gold or some other miracle.  
I feel the hande get looser the more pins I push up until the handle gives and I’m in.

And really, it’s not like I’m a thief or anything, I just locked into a closet by my older sister a little too many times and had to “bust out” for lack of better words. Albeit picking a lock backward is a lot harder than it looks. And really, It’s just another reason for me leaving my family. 

After swinging the door open to Hank’s amazement, I get a really heavy dose of pine surging through my nostrils. It’s so damn strong in fact, I could swear he’s been selling evergreen trees out of his apartment. My nose soon leads me right to the source, it’s an electric wax burner and it looks to be cranked on full blast. 

After sitting down on his not-so roommate friendly loveseat, wondering how I’m going to make my escape from this piney hellscape. 

He takes a seat right next to me holding a fist full of licorice ropes in front of my snout. 

“You want some” he struggles to say in an overexcited tone, still glancing at my claw with his almost golden eyes. I could feel his tail thumping on the sofa like a puppy.

By the smell of his mouth and the inky black colour of the vines clutched in his hand, it was black licorice. Disgusting. I’m not really a candy person, to begin with, so that’s going to be a hard pass. 

“So who’s your guest” I pry, deflecting his question. “Is she your new girlfriend or . . . sister?” I drag out. I can see red make its way under his white fur, letting me know I hit my mark. 

I didn’t know you were related to a . . .” I say, with a stupid tone covering my voice.

“No, what? She’s my new roommate.” He says getting to his feet as quickly as he sat down. The puppyish wonder in his eye fades to their normal chilled look.

“Mave,” he says, whipping around to the puzzled roommate before I can say more. “Why don’t I show you around?” 

He extends his paw towards the recently vacant guest room. Passing his not-so-yellow bathroom. She gives him an acknowledging nod and follows suit, giving me a weird look as she passes by. Yep, she thinks I’m trash.

Studying the rest of the room it seems to be cleaner than he normally keeps it, most likely to make a first impression on his new guest. But, like time after time his true colours, and bad habits make themselves know. she’ll be gone within a week, if not sooner with that show I just put on.

After he’s done giving his guest the quality tour of his two-room abode, I politely say “Hey Henry, I think I left my housewarming gift in my trunk, . . . You mind if I step out?” repeating the stupid corny grin he put on for me. 

He throws me a stare, not even jack frost could pull off, but eases it into a handsome grin while showing me out the freshly picked door.

I make my way into the hall and out of that artificial forest. I stop only briefly before taking a flight of stairs down to think about asking him for some milk, but given that his company was a cow, that doesn't seem likely. 

The streets aren’t that full, but that’s to be expected, most people are reaching the end of their shifts readying for their commute home. Not me though, I’ve been mostly living off the money I saved up from doing odd jobs and college scholarships for poor foxes. It’s crazy how willing they’re to throw me cash for getting an education but lately, I feel like money is getting tighter. 

My reckless spending maybe isn’t helping me too much, I’ll admit. I might need to pick up a real job for once because there's no way in hell I’m calling home.

My stomach and a chatty lion walking up the sidewalk bring me out of my not-so-pleasant thoughts. His tail swings back and forth with every motion of his hand almost like he’s conducting an orchestra, but In reality, he’s having a heated conversation over the phone to an assistant about forgotten dates and cold coffee. 

Speaking of cold coffee, I could use a good cup of hot coffee right about now, and I know the appropriate place to get my fix.

I make my way down the leaf-covered sidewalk, avoiding discriminate stares and hushed chatter from those who don’t even know me. Well, I make a decent effort to avoid conversations that I’m not in, but being a fox I pick up on mostly everything. Sometimes it comes in handy, like cheating on a test (I totally don't do that) or hearing if it’s safe to avoid the terror across the hall, but for things like getting call foul names under some prey’s breath, not so much.

My coffee deprived legs finally reach the “Java Jackal” and I’m greeted with a dark and nutty, yet sweet smell when I struggle to swing the large elephant-access door open.

Coffee shops are both good and bad. It doesn't matter what I buy, nothing will taste as good as this place smells. I’m glad this is one of the places that stays open 24/7 or I’d be out of luck. Good news too, only three customers in the entire shop and they’re all glued to a laptop or some book that’s only acting as a facade. 

The layout of the place is pretty standard for most coffee shops, two big center tables with plain reddish-brown swivel seats and a long table facing out to the normally busy streets. Both of these seating arrangements are interwoven with all types of outlets and cords I don’t recognize nor will ever use. 

I tend to sit down at the long table on account that I’m too short it sit comfortably on the swivel chairs. But today a doe and her kid is occupying some of the seats and I don’t really want to get stared at, let alone talked to after the whole lock-picking ordeal. 

I approach the counter recognizing the two faces that are working today, a cute reddish fox mixing drinks and taking orders over a headset to folks in a hurry, and the sheep working the front cash register and politely taking orders through a tuft of wool.

If I had the confidence to ask the vixen out I would, but I’m way too nervous placing my fucking order let alone asking someone out. Besides no girl wants to be asked for their email. Yep, I don’t own a phone, never really found a need for it; it’s not like I have tons of people I need to talk to or a job for that matter. The ewe at the counter is more in my league, I’m not against cross-species dating or anything, it’s just not my thing, albeit my family wouldn't object 

I give the sheep as much of a smile I can muster without showing too much teeth all at once and ask for the lightest coffee they got, knowing full well she’s going to say “we’re out of that, but we can do a pour over if you’d like?” I nod my head, trying not to look annoyed as I reach into the pocket of my sweats revealing a plastic debit card. 

“That’ll be three dollars and forty-five cents,” she says with a smile and extended hoof. 

Man, it’s it really that much? Well, I did get a large, or whatever stupid word they like to call it. 

I hand over the card over, past all the weird berry-nut bars and chocolate. She swipes it quickly, and the machine lets off a loud “beep” reminding me that I'm wasting my money on coffee instead of buying some milk or much-needed food. 

I struggle to get atop one of the swivel seats while I wait for my drink. Putting my foot on the ground, anchoring the chair from twisting seemed like the most reasonable option; after getting on, there’s not stopping this thing from becoming a carnival ride. 

And oh man, I wish I brought my computer or something to read. I should have settled for something already brewed so I didn’t have to wait all awkwardly. I’d honestly read a free newspaper but it took all my effort to get on this Lazy-Suzan, and besides the news lately has been pretty adamant on pumping out all types of “savage” stories and it's too depressing to wrap my head around right now. 

The music playing over the speakers is the only thing for my mind to focus on, besides the occasional drink mixer, and it isn’t awful. Too bad I can’t seem to understand a word he’s saying. (He’s a goldmine? Or something about cake.)

After a short time, I hear my name being called by the cute fox and I hop down from where I’m sitting trying my best to make it not spin. There’s a conveniently placed step up to the area where drinks are placed. She reaches over the counter like an acrobat while using one of the big swivel chairs as a way to reach over the mountain of marble.

She gives me a smile as I reach for my drink. She probably would’ve said something if she wasn’t currently taking a big order for a minivan full of bobcats and dashing back and forth over various drink-related machines.

After leaving all the change in my pocket to the repurposed mason jar, I make my way outside.

Once I get out onto the street I can smell the autumn leaves and the crisp air after being nose blind by the strong scent of coffee and other delicious drinks.

The streets are more lively now on account people are trying to rush home to get a good night's sleep. I’m glad being on the sidewalk, I don’t have to worry about that much traffic. 

Cars zip right past me and get a glimpse of what they’re playing on the radio as my ears instinctively twitch towards them. It’s mostly just the latest greatest hit song played over and over, but sometimes it’s something classic like Woodchuck Berry or The Beach Bevers. 

In between each car's radio I hear the city’s industrial song. the sound of honking horns and motor vehicles, the steady chatter on the sidewalk, and the monstrous twang of the pile-drivers getting their last few strikes for the night before it gets too dark to operate safely. 

It’s visibly darker now, I’m getting more friendly looks as I pass by other preds on the street, making their way to the city bus stops, or doing the commute by foot. The bargain store isn’t too far from where I am, so I’m just going to walk. I probably need the exercise anyway. 

I approach the low lit parking lot of the run-down mart. Even though it’s officially night out, the lights still haven't come on. They stopped working a couple years back as I’m told and they never fixed what went wrong; like a lot of things around here. 

Maybe this place and the trash heap I live at shares the same maintenance guy.

I’m brought out of my daydream by a moving figure out of the corner of my eye. I quickly jerk my head towards the source of the commotion. This isn’t the most reputable part of town and even though I’ve never been robbed in my life, It’s still a possibility. 

I feel adrenaline rush throughout my body, but it’s ultimately wasted when I notice the threat is just a goat looking frantically around on the cracked blacktop for something. The concurrence of the broken lights in the lot, and it being sundown, isn’t helping him too much anyway. 

He’s dressed in a nice button up shirt tucked into his dress pants and the car he’s sporting isn’t some old run down boat covered in rust. The pocket protector full of pens is the real cherry on top and it’s a dead giveaway, he’s not from around here. 

After studying him, I see the glint of something silver near his tire. And I know instantly, he’s lost his car’s key. 

I walk slowly and drag my feet hoping that he’ll hear me and not get too startled when I approach him.

It takes me a second to gather my words before carefully saying “Hey, uh . . . Did you lose something? Need help or. .?” Before I was even finished with my question he was already facing me. The terrified look on his face was amplified after tracing the voice back to me. 

Damn, he’s quick, but somehow I could see his every move like he was moving a few seconds behind me. 

Holding his hooves out cautiously “look, I . . . I don’t . . .”

I quickly shoot my hand down at the lost key. He backs up slightly and before he could get a word out. I hold it out to him. Being illuminated by the moonlight, he quickly realizes my true intentions weren’t to rob or murder him, and he drops his hooves.

His shoulders fall, to what I can assume, back to their normal positioning and his face trades the look of terror for relief.

I let out a nervous chuckle to defuse the silence before saying “They really need to fix the lights around here right? It’s driving away all the tourists” I swipe my hand in the direction of the more rundown part of the block with my other scratching the scruff of my neck. 

“I don’t see a lot of . . . well” Giving him a nod, trying my best not to sound prejudice. 

It takes him only seconds to process what I’m hinting at. He gives me a look like he’d said something nasty and was trying to take it back, the look of pity and remorse. 

“The store I usually shop fell victim to . . . they’ve had the place closed down for weeks, and they won’t say what happened to the shopkeep” I could hear his voice grow more worrisome. 

Now understanding the look in his eyes, I give him back a nod, trying not to show the growing anxiety within me.

He breaks the unending silence with “I thought I had time before it got dark” He starts to laugh. “Man, I was right about to run back in and buy a fucking flashlight” 

I couldn't help smiling, showing more teeth than wanted to. 

“Well I better get back to the wife,” he says with another awkward chuckle “She’ll be worried sick” He probably doesn't want to stay here longer than he has to. I don’t blame him I don’t want to be here either. Sadly I don’t have that choice. 

He places the bags that were momentarily forgotten into his trunk and gives me a friendly wave and he’s off. 

The smell of sweat lingers in the air, I can’t tell if it was his or mine.

Even if I keep the television off and don’t open the paper I still can’t escape this word, branded on all of us. I’m usually not a worrying type of guy but this, this is starting to feel closer to home. 

The electric doors slide open with a not-so-graceful shudder and I’m greeted with rows of pred foods, lit by flickering fluorescent tubes of different hues. I walk straight past the isle of cookies, snacks, and other junk foods set near the entrance to tempt those who have poor self-control. Normally I’d take a look but today I don’t feel normal. 

The coffee I’ve been carrying around ever since my “morning” venture is cold, and the flavor of sugar and cream is replaced by the horrid taste of metal. almost like I’ve been licking the handrails at an amusement park. 

I scan the aisles with my eyes looking for something that looks remotely good, passing the frozen area where all the artificial meat Is held. 

Growing up I didn’t eat any form of meat; I’ve had the chance to eat it parties and other gatherings catered to and by preds, and I have to say, the stuff I’ve had, it’s pretty interesting. 

Maybe I’ll give it another try, but not today. 

As always my feet take me to the shelves where the pasta and other bread-like items are held. I pick out a bag of cheese stuffed ravioli and some crackers to snack on. My stomach growls, but I’m not hungry, just tired; even though I woke up only a few hours prior. Maybe it’s because recently I've been failing at adjusting my sleep schedule to work more towards the mostly prey-oriented college I’m attending, and it’s really fucking eating me alive. 

With the few things that I found edible, I head over to the only register in the store, being manned by a single peppy otter. A dingo (or coyote-dog thing) is already at the checkout. We walked in around the same time, but he must've already known what he wanted even though he’s got a sizeable amount of food like he’s going to be feeding the entire block. Telling by all the “meat” he’s got, it’s probably one of those pred parties I was talking about.

The meat was scanned and bagged within five minutes of being set down on the belt. That otter isn’t messing around. 

As I approach the register, I stop to pick out a bag of black licorice set next to the magazines about health and the latest star break-ups. Placing them down prompts a weird look from the cashier. Hey, maybe he hates this shit too, but I told Hank I was getting him a housewarming gift right? 

With the otter's dexterity, I’m pulling out my card sooner than I thought. He opens the door to the cash register, but looks surprised when I hand him my card. And another “beep” tells me yet again my cash is getting lower. 

I wait for the guy in front of me to carry his food out past the big grizzly wearing a rent-a-cop uniform with the word “security” on his back in white. I’m not going to attempt squeezing past him on account that he drops any of it, I’ll have to take out a bank loan. 

Before I step out the door, a big fur-covered arm blocks my way. I look up towards him with a genuine look of curiosity, but it soon fades knowing his real intent. I don’t feel like listing my rights or fighting back, so I thrust my receipt forward and let him rifle through my bag and I’m on my way. 

Fucking typical.

It looks darker out than it did before even though I’m walking the same route I did only a couple hours prior, but it feels, . . . longer. I have a weird feeling like I’m detached from reality, or like my feet aren’t touching the ground and I’m being taken by a blurry current I can’t see. The car radios that I once could hear individually, have become a blur like thousands of people are talking all at once. Maybe I’m getting sick? Or worse, dead. 

I steer off the path I usually take to break this horrid feeling. I start walking on the more lit part of the block where I’m not familiar with. I hear chatter coming from a group of prey but they fall silent while giving me a wide girth. They don’t say a word, but the look in their eyes tells me all I need to know. 

Monster. . .

Maybe all these things are true, I mean, I’ve never done anything to harm anyone, but at the same time, I do. Just by walking down the street I’m performing an act of terror. I let out a growl and put my pads to my ears, trying to block out the sound for just a moment, giving my brain a second to catch up. 

I hear the prey behind me move faster away from me. 

As I stopped to regain my composure, I felt something soft graze my arm and I snapped my head over quicky to find a sheep passing my left. He gave me a small nod of apology out of his tired eyes and continued on his way. But, He wasn’t scared at all.

My mind is now racing and torn between two truths as I wrap around the block once more, reaching the graffiti-clad building I call home.

I walk up the flight of stairs to my room and open the door almost automatically without giving the handle a glance. I hear Hank’s voice, but it too has become muddy and weak. every word of his once-booming voice sounds foreign; it’s giving my already present headache fuel just trying to decipher it. 

I throw my bag down on my unkempt countertop without putting it away and head straight to the pile of sheets I call a bed. 

Images, articles, and words spoken softly on the street are recycled in my head in flashes of anxiety, and it stops my steady breathing for sharp gasps of air like my lungs are made of lead. The cold breeze is the only thing lifting the sweat off my frame. 

I have a warm feeling fall over my body and the sounds of the streets and radios began to unravel themselves, playing separate tunes. I jolt awake my ears darting towards the somewhat relaxing sound of a garbage truck. My body is dry, but I can still feel my sheets dampened by sweat.

I don’t feel like I slept at all, but the warm sun falling on fur reassures me that time has passed, albeit only a few hours. 

I roll over hastily checking my clock. It reads “Tuesday, September the 6th ” I give a sigh of relief because, for the first time in my life, I don’t want to go back.


End file.
